


Bonds of Sea and Fire - Part 1

by missameliep



Series: Bonds of Sea and Fire [1]
Category: Blades of Light and Shadow (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missameliep/pseuds/missameliep
Summary: What if Tyril accepts the offer to share the bunk with Arwen?The first scene takes place in Chapter 4, after the ship is hit by the storm, and the next one after Chapter 5.
Relationships: Tyril Starfury/Main Character (Blades of Light and Shadow)
Series: Bonds of Sea and Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764625
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Bonds of Sea and Fire - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> * English is not my native language;  
> * This is my first attempt writing for this book and the characters. This fic has been forever on my drafts and got much longer than expected;  
> * All characters belong to PixelBerry.
> 
> This is my submission to Choices May Challenge - Day 21: Sleep.

“Tyril can sleep with me.”

The feminine voice resonated in the confined room below deck where the group’s sleeping arrangements had quickly escalated to a quarrel between the rogue and the elf. The boldness of her suggestion silenced everyone for about two seconds and drew every pair of eyes to Arwen, who did not know where those words – or the courage to express them – came from.

There’s no denial the younger elf is flirty, her tongue – acquainted with the most charming words – and eye-catching beauty have been used in her advantage numerous times before leaving Riverbend. But this was not the same.

Tyril, the first elf she remembers seeing beyond her own reflection, stirred her curiosity and has been on her mind more often than she’d like to admit, competing for the attention that was supposed to be focused exclusively on rescuing her brother.

That sentence conveyed more of her desires than it was prudent to communicate. However, was she ever prudent? If Kade were here, he’d spill out the answer in the blink of an eye.

A sensible person could’ve just offered to sleep on the floor, it would not be a first time for her, or just try to reason with them – it’s not that hard for her to get Mal’s attention at least.

Instead, she just invited a stranger to share the bed with her - and wished nothing more than for him to accept it.

Surprised gasps broke the brief silence and Arwen’s heart fluttered at the sight of Tyril’s flushed cheeks while he tried to collect his words. The elf’s skin turning into a lovely shade of purple before her eyes, reminding her of the fields outside Riverbend peppered with asters during springtime.

 _It’s almost comical that someone with such a stern facade could so easily blush_ , she thinks, and the corners of her lips pull upwards.

Inquiring her about the offer, Tyril’s blue eyes remain fixed on her face, oblivious to Mal’s words dripping with jealousy. The two pools of blue twinkle and the intensity of his stare is almost unbearable, as if he could unveil every secret of her soul if he looks long enough into her eyes. But this exchange doesn’t last. His long black hair whips, covering his face, when he turns around and it’s all over.

Tyril lowers his gaze, a persistent blush on his cheeks, and inhales deeply, recomposing himself to address the others.

 _Does he think I said what I said out of mockery?_ she ponders, while the group continue the conversation, _And why would I even mind if he wouldn’t take on my words seriously?_

Arwen is stricken by the ridiculousness of the suggestion and the grin fades from her lips.

*****

The two’s soft voices chant a gleeful tune as old as time.

Merely murmurs compared to the roar of the storm.

A lightning crash, casting its light through the port window and illuminating the storage room and its occupants.

One of Arwen’s hands hold Nia’s, while they leaned against one another, the other holds tight at the side of the bunk, nails digging small crescents in the wood.

Inhaling deeply, Arwen closes her eyes and sings another verse. And another one.

Not a moment of respite since leaving Riverbend, she ponders. The first time at the sea can be her last one. What a shame would it be to have her adventurer career cut short before it even began!

The angry waves crashing against the hull of the schooner, spewing salty water on the deck, still echoes vividly in her ears. In her memory engraved the feeling of her stomach churning when the treacherous deck tripped almost every soul’s feet, including hers, while the impetuous wind slammed cold raindrops against her face like ice-cold crystals.

Below deck, on the cramped room, only the elf’s voice sang the last verses of the old song.

Nia’s lips were slightly opened, but only the softest sounds of her respiration came out. The Priestess’ body had finally surrendered to sleep.

The roar of the ocean declined as if in response to Nia’s prayers to the Light. The baskets scattered on the floor remained that way, instead of crashing against one another as they did moments before.

Arwen lowered Nia’s body on the mattress and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. One smile at Threep curling around the woman’s feet on the top bunk, fast asleep, and she climbed down the stairs. When her feet touch the ground this time, the ship sways more gently. The worst is over. Cheerful voices resound from above, confirming her assumption.

Exhaustion dawns on her at once and her body weights a ton when her head at long last touches the thin mattress. Lying on her back, however, Arwen couldn’t drift to sleep.

Hands entwined over her stomach, her mind was set free from fear and insisted on reliving every word she shared with Tyril tonight. _Lord Tyril from Undermount_. That’s probably why he’s so majestic – unlike her. Being a noble must have that kind of effect on an elf. Even his armour looked dignified shining under the moonlight, not even the king’s soldiers sported those kinds of suits of armour.

Looking at the scratches on the wood, at the carved names and crude drawings, she hears the screaks of the floor at every thump of boots getting closer.

The faint light from the lamps hanging outside illuminated the silhouette of the men. First, Mal’s smaller frame crossed the threshold, then Tyril’s.

The elf towers behind the other, and without a word, the rogue grabbed a blanket lying atop one of the benches and moved out of the way. A few of the baskets scattered on the floor were pushed aside to clear the space, but the man didn’t lie down immediately.

The elf also stood still like a statue.

 _What could he be expecting?_ she considers, looking at him midway to the bunk and to a bench. _Could he be thinking about my offer?_

Her body stirs, and she props her chin on her hand, indicating she’s awake and looking at him. She wishes to say something, but before she does, he finally moves.

The dull sound of the boots on the wooden floor after each of Tyril’s cautious steps around a barrel. When he sat down, his weight caused both the bunk and Arwen’s stomach to sink. The clanging of the armour resounded when he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“You sleep against the wall,” the elf commanded in a low voice. But almost immediately added, possibly trying to sound less rude, his voice barely above a whisper, “I must remain here, facing the door, if you allow me.”

“Why?” The question leaves Arwen’s mouth too quickly, even though it didn’t matter the reason. Perhaps she only desires to hear his voice, to carry on this conversation and replace the sound of the thunder with his whispers.

“I must be ready in the eventuality of an attack.”

“Attack? But then I’ll be trapped –” she started to argue in a hushed tone, but bit her tongue when his head swivelled to face her, and his voice, unexpectedly soft, cut her off, “Rest assured, as long as I’m here, I will keep you safe.”

Besides Kade, no one ever vowed such thing. For many years she has not needed anyone to protect her, but it was still nice to hear someone say the words, and Arwen acquiesced. Her tired body moved on the small bed, and her back rests against the wooden wall. Eyes open wide trying to catch the sight of his hands swiftly working on the fastenings of his armour on the dark.

The clinking of each piece being removed and placed on the floor increased the thumping of her heart.

When the last piece reached the floor, her blood froze in anticipation.

From the moment she saw him at the street, her unruly mind has deliberated about Tyril and his sky clear blue skin more times than she’d like to admit.

Once his head laid on the mattress, his damp black hair splayed, and droplets of water sprinkled Arwen’s arm. His skin and hair exuded saline water and something else she couldn’t quite define; but mostly he smelled like the sea.

To finally have another elf at arm’s reach was more than she ever dreamed. Her mind raced and her curiosity was impossible to refrain. Finding out everything about him is vital to learn more about herself – a whole existence longing to belong and the elf lying next to her possibly got the answers she’s searched for so long.

Hopefully, during their journey, there will be time to ask him each and every last one of her questions.

Pursing her lips, she bites her tongue for now and observes him. Taller than herself or anyone she’s ever met, his back was just like a wall in front of her.

Arwen lifted her head from the bed, propping herself on one elbow, peaking at him. The black hair clinging to the side of his face like a river streaming down to his neck and her eyes lowered catching a glimpse of the hilt of the sword, tightly encircled by his hand.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked in a hushed tone, close to his ear, aware he wasn’t sleeping or comfortable in that position, assuming he must be accustomed with plush mattresses and a kind of luxury her eyes never seen.

His head swivelled only a little. “Are you?” he whispered his own question in return, and she smiled.

“I could list at least five worse places I could be sleeping right now,” she replied, and her voice filled with amusement was barely above a whisper. “And worse company.”

A huff escaped his mouth, and she pondered if he sighed in displease or let out a laugh at her remark. She hoped it was the latter. Maybe she made the corners of his lips turn upwards again. 

“Do you want to scoot closer?”

“This position is satisfactory.”

She hesitantly touched his arm, hand brushing the crimson shirt, and leaned forward, speaking very softly inside his ear, “You’re almost falling from the bed.”

No word left his mouth, and his muscles tensed.

“I won’t bite,” she insisted and smiled at him when he looked at her over his shoulder. Obliging, he moved a little closer, still holding the sword tight and keeping his knees bent.

“How can you sleep holding that?”

“But I must be ready –”

“Mal is closer to the door,” she whispered, “They’ll get him first, and you’ll have time to reach for your sword.”

“I heard that, Kit!” the rogue hissed. “Stop flirting with elf-boy and go to sleep already!”

Covering a fit of giggles with her hand, she teased in a breathy voice, “Green doesn’t suit you, Mal!”

The man left an exasperated sigh, “Just be quiet and let me sleep!” and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, most likely a string of profanity.

“Just say a word and I’ll toss him overboard.”

“Nah, he’s nice. We better keep him.”

“As you wish,” he replied, “But I cannot promise I won’t do it eventually.”

 _Did he make a joke?_ she ponders and smiles. “Fair enough.”

Breathing deeply, she contemplated Tyril lying immobile, and for a long moment studied his breathing and silhouette. Thoughts about him and the elves at Undermount filled her mind until she drifted off to sleep, just to wake up minutes later with a scream trapped on her throat and ragged breathing.

Regaining conscience, her hand rubbed her face, wiping beads of sweat and she tried to calm herself. The images from the Shadow Court and the macabre glare from Kade were all her imagination.

At least for now.

Unlike her dream, she trusts when the time comes her new companions will be there too, and this thought makes her smile.

When morning comes a few hours later, finding the place beside her at the bunk empty and cold doesn’t make her smile. On the contrary.

*****

**_Flotilla – The Sailor’s Lament – The next evening_ **

Another long day filled with events that a lifetime at Riverbend could never provide left Arwen’s body exhausted.

Lying on her back, hands entwined over her stomach, she ponders about the latest discoveries and the journey ahead.

The body next to her stirs, and lets out a quiet purring sound. A smile curls her lips, at the thought the Priestess starts to resemble Threep.

She looks at her friend fondly, the one she promised Scholar Vash to protect, but she desires to share the bed with another one.

Unable to sleep, the elf collects the gauntlet from the satchel beside the small bed, puts it on her hand and leaves the small room and its stagnant air.

Closing the door behind her, the sounds from the patrons’ chatter downstairs reach her ears. Arwen moves quietly towards the end of the narrow corridor, where a small window overlooks Flotilla and lets the moonlight inside.

Lost in thought, she stays there for a moment, observing the numerous ships docked, swaying gently with the high tide.

Her contemplation is disturbed by the creak of a door opening and heavy footsteps pacing behind her.

Turning around, she’s met by Tyril’s infuriated expression.

When he recognizes her, he stops pacing and his hand moves from the hilt of the sword. She waves him and three long strides bring him to her side.

“Bad night?”

“Bad company, I suppose.” He sighs and shakes his head slowly. “If only the room had a window…”

“What did Mal do this time?” the elf asks with a small smile, trying to hide her amusement and meet her companion’s enraged blue eyes.

“What did he not do, that’s the appropriate question!” he groans and looks at her. Without catching his breathing, he rants, “That man will drive me insane with that incessant talk! I demanded him to stop, so we could sleep. He agreed and the ill-omened noise started! I tell you; he must be faking it to annoy me. It’s impossible for a human to be that loud. A thunderstorm is not as loud as him!”

Her snicker was faster than the hand that tried to cover it.

“Sorry,” she said, raising her hand apologetically. Knowing Mal and his mischief, the snores are a ruse to infuriate the elf.

“I would laugh too, if I was the one hearing this ridiculous narrative…”

Standing beside her, his arms crossed over his chest and his blue skin bathed in the moonlight reminded her of the night he joined the party. Even with his face peppered with red from the mayor’s blood, he looked beautiful and terrifying as a rainstorm.

Just as he does now, but much less terrifying.

“Guess last evening’s company seems more tolerable now.”

His eyes wavered from her face and fixed at the moon.

“The company was adequate,” Tyril replies, at last, his voice almost as low as a whisper, and the same purple hue tinting his cheeks.

“Well… If you said so earlier, maybe you could have gotten yourself a better sleeping arrangement,” she winked playfully. “Unfortunately, my bed is at its maximum capacity tonight.” The young elf chuckled.

His chest heaved and he struggled to stifle a chuckle and, finally, his lips curled up into a slow smile, rounding his cheeks.

“I will keep that in mind,” the elf spoke softly, no trace of the previous surliness on his voice or expression.

A rush of blood flooded Arwen’s face. Cupping her warm cheek, she covered the unusual blush and averted his intense gaze, the same stare from the previous day at the ship, as if all the constellations twinkled inside those orbs.

The pair remained quiet for a long while.

Numerous questions trapped on Arwen’s mouth; at that moment, she can’t trust her tongue, nevertheless.

Therefore, both stared at the sky, enjoying the comfortable silence, until a gush of cold wind convinced them it was time to return to their respective rooms.


End file.
